


you've laid your hands upon me

by buries



Category: DC Extended Universe, Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Chair Bondage, Chair Sex, Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Post-Canon, Riding, Rope Bondage, Sexual Roleplay, Wondertrev Secret Santa 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28310406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: After a long, hard day, Diana and Steve decide to christen the Justice League headquarters, starting with the team's meeting room.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65





	you've laid your hands upon me

**Author's Note:**

> This is for steventrevor on Tumblr for the Wondertrev Secret Santa exchange. Hi! I hope you have a great end of the year break and festivities and get to enjoy WW84 very, very soon. I was super thrilled to be your santa! 
> 
> My lovely giftee wanted something raunchy. Out of the kinks you listed, I was very inspired by all of them and ended up hopefully ticking the boxes on bondage with the lasso, oral, and risky sex intermingled with it sort of being in public. I did take some liberties with the way her armour works.
> 
> This is set in some world where Steve's around (from some miraculous reasoning) and has been working with the Justice League. The only films you really need to be familiar with are the Wonder Woman ones and just know she's part of a League.
> 
> Title is from New Order’s "Blue Monday". Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine.

"I can’t believe you seriously want to do this."

"You wanted to experience firsts together, Steve," she says patiently. Diana doesn’t try to withhold her smile, seeing him fidget in his place by the League’s meeting table. "I haven’t done this and neither have you, unless there’s something you’d like to tell me?"

He blushes a vibrant red, fingers working against one another as he remains on the opposite side of the table to her. Like a skittish, frightened prey, he moves the opposite way when she so much as takes a step to be closer to him.

Clearing his throat, he wraps his fingers around the back of a chair. "This isn’t going to be like the time where you told me parachute pants were cool to wear now and then let Barry, Bruce and Arthur laugh at me, right?"

"I didn’t tell you that they were cool to wear, Steve," she says earnestly, still moving to her right as he takes careful, obvious steps to the left to hide away from her. "I told you that you could wear them. They suit you. You make them cool."

Giving him a once over as he stands before her in his skinny jeans, white shirt and leather jacket, he crosses his arms against his chest tightly and shakes his head. "Stop it," he says quietly. Diana doesn’t stop it, lips forming a smirk as she ogles him openly.

Steve presses his lips together in embarrassment, although the way he looks away and shifts on his feet are an attempt to convey he’s unhappy. She can’t help but giggle, lifting her hand up to cover her mouth to try and wipe away the amused upward curve to her lips. With the headquarters uncharacteristically hollow of any of its members (save them), Diana wishes to make the most of it. In order to do that, she needs to appear nonthreatening to him.

Clearing her throat, she settles her face into something that feels as blank as one of her canvases. That seems to do the trick; he sighs, shoulders slouching, and his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.

"I really want to do this," he says, still looking rather serious. Peering at him closely, she can spy a faint pink begin to layer on top of his already pink-tinged skin. He’s a work of beautiful art, textured and layered and uniquely made for her. "So… I don’t want you to not do this, you know?"

With a sigh, she pulls her hand away from her face and reaches for her lasso buckled at her hip. It unlatches easily from her skirt and unravels much like a snake bewitched by music. It softly drops onto the floor and it warms her bare palm as she begins to wrap it around and around her lifelines.

She peers up at him with an arch to her brow and a purse to her reddened lips. "Sit."

His brows shoot up. "Sit?" he stutters.

Quickly unraveling the lasso, she cracks it in the air. The headquarter’s table tremors slightly.

"Okay, okay," he says, pulling out a chair noisily. It’s her chair he picks, perhaps on purpose. Steve doesn’t do anything unintentionally. Dropping down into the chair clumsily, he shifts and moves and grips the arms tightly before crossing his legs at the knee. Clearing his throat, he looks at her and nods. "I’m sitting."

Wrapping the lasso around her wrist once more, Diana peers down at herself in her armour, the tips of her skirt slightly singed from dragon fire. Her boots are coated in soot and her legs are no better. She feels as though she’s come home from the war once more, but this time, her home isn’t lost within the realm of the sky.

With a glance over her shoulder, she can’t hear anyone from the League inside the headquarters. It’s just as quiet as the aftermath of a bomb, but this time, the ringing in her ears is buzzing excitement and a warm lightning strike of adrenaline.

Once the lasso is wrapped around her her hand and wrist like a bewitched snake, she crosses the long distance between them with purposeful and powerful strides. For a spy, he doesn’t shy away from her; he’s never been skilled in doing so, aways bearing himself like a flower beginning to bloom from its bud. He gulps, sitting up straighter, and she enjoys the way he looks at her as if she’s truly ethereal.

"Did you want to be you or the pilot this time?"

"Uh." Steve’s gaze lingers on her bare leg and the way she stands before him, knee and hip jutted out. His blue gaze is slowly growing dark like a tumultuous, hungry sea. "Pilot, if that’s okay."

She smiles brightly. "I like Pilot Steve."

"It’s Captain, miss," he says, clearing his throat once more. He sits back in his chair and looks up at her, gaze lingering on the long column of her throat. "Wonder Woman."

She laughs warmly before she lets the lasso unravel like a curled ribbon around her wrist, trickling to the floor to brush against his sneakers. They’re red and blue and gold with a W encrusted on the sides. His Wonder Woman sneakers travel with him everywhere—a good luck charm, he believes. To her, they’re merely a token of his affection.

"I can’t let you leave, Captain Trevor," she purrs, lips forming a reddened pout. "How can I make you stay?"

"I have a lot of important pilot things to do, Wonder Woman," he says, peering up at her earnestly. Easily slipping into his role, the tension in his body begins to slowly uncoil like a rope. He sighs and shrugs his shoulder, his leather jacket shifting. The white shirt he wears underneath stretches across his chest even more. "Places to see, people to meet…"

Pursing her lips together, she makes a _hm_ sound. "I think I can convince you to stay with me," she says. With the lasso firmly gripped in the palm of her hand, she drops to her knees, much to his surprise—the gaping of his mouth and the darkening of the sea in his gaze is enough to make her wet—and she begins to wrap her lasso around his right wrist. 

"Wonder Woman—"

"Shush," she says, pinching his arm. Once his wrist is tied to the arm of the chair, she loops it down to his right ankle. Around and around it goes, glowing gold and warm, trapping him in place like a warm embrace. Humming happily to herself, she begins to loop the lasso around his left ankle. He’s breathing heavily above her, fingers gripping the arms of the chair tightly. 

Shuffling further between his legs, she brings the lasso up to his left wrist and loops it around the arm of the chair, shackling him in place. Once she’s wrapped him up like a gift, she peers at him with a smile, still on her knees before him.

He stares at her with fondness, lips parted. 

"Is it too tight?" 

He shakes his head. "No," he says, the lasso glowing gold as the truth slips from his mouth. "Is it—is it going to do that?"

"Yes," she says, peering up at him intently. Her brow furrows as she worries. "I can get another lasso—"

"No, no, no," he says, lifting his fingers and shaking his head. "I like this one. I want this one. I, uh, I really want this one, Diana. Sometimes I think about you punishing me with it—oh, boy, this was such a bad idea." 

As his face brightens a nice, warm red, she laughs. With an arch of her brow, she rests her hand on his knee, summoning a little jolt from him. "Is that so, Captain?"

He nods. "Mhm, yes. Yes."

"And what else would you like me to do to you, hm?" She smiles, lifting herself up on her knees as she begins to slide her hand heavily from his knee to his thigh. His pant leg begins to wrinkle beneath her firm grip, shifting as she pulls it toward the crease of his hip. Without waiting, she palms his cock through his pants and hums appreciatively. 

"Di—" Steve pants, then clears his throat. She can see the way his throat tightens and his shoulders begin to tense. His hands grip the arm of the chair tightly. "Wonder Woman," he breathes out. "Please—"

Kind enough to grant him some mercy, she gives him a squeeze—gentle, considering her strength—and shifts on her knees as she grows wet beneath her panties at his groan. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back slightly, and shifts his hips on the chair. It’s almost as though he’s been waiting for her for centuries, half-hard. She thinks to tell him how wet she’s been since he murmured in her ear earlier in the day, but she bites her bottom lip and presses her hand firmly against him.

"I’ve been waiting for you all damn day, Diana," he says quietly. When he opens his eyes, the bumbling, shy man he often is disappears beneath the confident pilot who knows how to operate any aeroplane, from one that’s visible to one that’s invisible. "All day."

"I can tell," she says, giving him another squeeze. Breath gusts from his lips and he shifts his hips into her hand with a stroke of confidence. "How much have you missed me? How much do you want me?"

"I don’t have words," he says, the lasso brightening as it coaxes the truth to tumble from his lips. "I don’t know what words are right now."

Diana laughs. Pulling her hand away, he whimpers, and she quietly shushes him. Her hands begin to work at the belt of his pants, her fingers fumbling to unbuckle it. Rather than being hasty, she should’ve commanded he take off his clothes first. She lets out a little breath at the regret, and merely concocts a second battle strategy to see her win her war.

He lifts his hips up and she tugs his pants down to his thighs. He sits in briefs, nice and black, and she smiles as she can see his hard cock against the fabric. Warmth floods her body, skin tinging pink, and Diana’s cheeks heat as though they are Hephaestus’ smithy as she rests her hands on his thighs, nudging him to widen them slightly, and bows her head to mouth at his cock.

The sound that comes from his mouth is nothing like a siren song. It’s different to anything she’s ever heard—it’s a whimper and a cry, a call for her, and he presses his hips down tightly into the chair as she drags her tongue over the familiar shape of him. His breathing becomes heavy and difficult and he puffs out air, and all Diana can do is smile around him.

She takes him into her mouth, as best she can, and ensures to envelope him in the warmth and wetness of her tongue.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Steve grips the chair, hard enough for him to make it creak. She can feel him pressing against the binds of the lasso, and that only makes her lick at him harder.

When she pulls away from him, her face feels as aflame as his. His head’s bent back and he stares at her, eyes darker than any storm she’s ever seen. 

"Di— _Wonder Woman_ , I—"

"What do you want?" Arching her brow, she ignores the pang of knowing this is unfair. Steve is always so shy, never wanting to request more from her than she’s willing to give. His confession of wanting to be tied up with her lasso and even fuck on the League’s table had been something he had been skittish and embarrassed to admit, and now, here she is, using the Lasso of Hestia to her advantage.

Pressing his lips together tightly, she notes how he struggles to let the truth slip. Fighting against the gentle nudge of the lasso, he lets out a breath as if the truth will surf on it and dissipate before he can vocalise it. 

"I want you to suck me off," he says. All the blood rushes to sit on the surface of his skin beautifully. "If that’s okay. If that’s what you want. I want it, but I’m—"

"Shut up, Steve," she says, laughing. Her body flushes warmly and she shifts on her knees, distracted momentarily by how the pulse in her clit pounds. She wants to straddle his lap and ride him in her chair, but she embodies an uncharacteristic amount of patience and begins to hook her fingers into the waistband of his briefs.

Tugging them down is a clumsy chore—he lifts his hips up when she’s not ready—and once they’re done, she bows her head and laughs. His breathing is still tight and heavy, but he laughs with her. "We’re not very coordinated, are we?"

"We do fine," she says. Biting her bottom lip, she looks down at his hardening cock. Despite the many times she’s seen him naked, she still sometimes feels like a girl, unaware and uncertain of how to navigate this new world around her.

"You can touch me," he says quietly. "I want you to."

Diana is gentle in the way she palms him. He’s warm and solid in her hand, and it serves as a gentle and quick reminder that he’s here with her once again.

Slowly firming up her grip, she begins to stroke him. He breathes heavily, sighing and throat tensing. He grips the chair and she wishes he could grip her, but she withstands her desire to release one of his hands and let him devour her like he’s the Kraken.

She watches him as he pants, cock hardening in her palm. The chair shifts beneath him as he closes his eyes momentarily before opening them to stare at her, wide-eyed and lips parted. 

Ignoring how she wants to touch herself, she slides her hand down to the base of his cock and bows her head to lick at the head. Steve makes a strained sound, panting growing heavier and hotter, and the chair seems to crack beneath his desire to remain still when she slowly takes him into her mouth.

He’s a familiar weight on her tongue as she begins to slick him up and move her mouth up and down. Humming, she bobs her head, her other hand brushing against his pant leg. She blindly searches with that other hand for his on the chair, fingers brushing then lapping over his as she fucks him harder, taking him deeper.

His pants are loud enough for Superman to hear in Metropolis, but Diana continues to try and make him sing. Plucking at his chords like he’s a lyre, she hollows out her cheeks and smiles around his cock as his skin feels hot and clammy around her. 

"Wond— Di— I…" He gulps, panting feeling like that of a dragon trying to breathe fire. She continues to bob her head, wrapping her tongue around him. He’s hot in her mouth as she sucks him hard, feeling him whimper and groan above her. Her heart thumps wildly in her chest as she fucks him, her pulse beating so loudly she can barely hear anything or anyone else but his breathing and her skin burning. 

"No, no, no, no, can I— _Diana_."

Although she wants to summon forth his sounds and splintered words, she pulls off his dick, licking at the seam of the head, and peers up at him, lips wet and her mouth missing his familiar weight. "What is it, Captain?"

While he may momentarily forget their little roleplay, she intends to drive him wild with it. He pants down at her, licking at his lips. He tries to capture air and seems to struggle with it, especially when she replaces her mouth with her hand and leisurely, without thought, pumps his slick cock.

"I want to be inside of you," he says. The lasso glows a brilliant gold and his fingers flex against the arm of the chair. "Please?"

Pursing her lips, Diana makes a show of considering his request. She wants him to be inside of her just as badly, but she licks her lips, wishing she could taste him on her tongue, and hums quietly. "Perhaps if you beg. I quite enjoyed—what was it that you said?—sucking you off?"

Steve tilts his head back, peering up at the ceiling like it’s a god that will answer his prayers, and laughs. "You’re going to kill me." 

"That would be pitiful," she says. "Then I’d have no one to suck—"

"I’m going to come if you say that again. I swear," he says. He tilts his head forward and gives her as much of a stern look as he can with her hand on his cock. "Please," he says. "You can—you can do that later."

Feigning a look of confusion, she tilts her head to the side and furrows her brow. "Do what?"

"You know."

"I don’t."

Clearing his throat, he looks off to the side and murmurs, "Suck me."

"Suck what?"

Gritting his teeth, he shakes his head incredulously. Diana does her best not to laugh at his obvious stress. Steve never wants for anything, but all she wants is for him to be wild and carefree, seeking what he wants and being given it. Nothing he could ask her would be too much.

Despite wanting to nudge him for his answer, impatience swelling in her belly, she waits. Waiting for him has never lead her astray or let her down.

Clearing his throat, he quietly says, "Suck my cock."

"That’s all you had to say, Captain," she says, smiling widely.

Although he has asked kindly, Diana slides her hand to the base of his dick and puts her mouth on him again to suck him and bob her head a few times. His breath’s knocked from him as he pants, skin warm, a beacon for her to disregard his request and make him come in her mouth. But she pulls off him and stands, leaving both their bodies cold.

She reaches up to pull the tiara from her hair when he says, "Leave it on." When her hands drop to her breastplate, he looks at the shining, slightly scorched gold and nods. "That, too."

Licking her lips, Diana’s pulse pounds sharply in her throat and cunt. "As you command, Captain," she says. His gaze grows sharp and he sits, slouched and captive, in her chair.

Her hands disappear beneath the deceptively soft fabric of her skirt. Hooking her fingers into her panties, she slides them down her hips. His gaze watches her openly, lips parted as she makes a show of guiding them down her knees and then over the sharp metal of her boots. Once they’re off, she keeps them in the palm of her hand.

It’s easy to straddle him, although she misses his hands hovering or pressing against her naked thighs to help guide and steady her. Her boots hit the ground with a clatter and she curves her hands around his jacket, sliding the leather down his shoulders so she can wrinkle the fabric of his white shirt. Shifting on his lap, she gasps when she sits her cunt on his cock.

"You’re so—"

"Mhm," she says, words rising and falling in her throat. She readjusts so that she can lean back, and her hand disappears from his shoulder to wrap around him once more. Diana wastes little time in shifting once more, aligning them easily and moaning as his cock slowly breaches her until he’s locked inside of her. 

Breath tugged from her, she bites her bottom lip and moans as her body adjusts to him inside of her. Shifting her hips, she grips his shoulders tightly. He stares up at her, breathing hard. He licks at his lips. "Are you okay?"

She smiles down at him. "No," she says. His brows furrow with concern. "This is annoying me," she says, pinching the fabric of his shirt. Before he can even look down, she’s tearing it, opening the fabric up like a gut and exposeing the muscles of his chest—hard and sharp, marred beautifully with the scars she enjoys to kiss, lick and touch when they’re alone.

"Well," he says, "I wish I could repay the favour, but my hands are currently tied."

She shrugs, laughing. "Oh, well," she says. But Diana pays him a little kindness, moving her hands away from his shoulders to grip the top of her breastplate. It’s easy for her to manoeuvre it down to bare her breasts, the tight metal feeling like a second skin around her torso, and she grins, chest flushed as he stares at her. 

"You’re so beautiful. And it’s not because you’re topless in front of me. That plays a part of it, of course, but—Oh, fuck." 

Her hands grip his shoulders as she begins to thrust against his cock. Breathing laboured, she moves up and down gently, feeling him slide in and out of her. She closes her eyes momentarily, enjoying the way he fits inside of her.

Arching her back, she lifts off him slightly and presses her breasts into his face. Steve wastes little time in licking the swell of her breast before he sucks her nipple into her mouth. She grips his shoulders tightly, painfully so at first before softening her grip, and bucks against his cock.

Accidentally dislodging her breast from him, Diana tilts her head to the side and moans as he mouths at her neck. Sucking at her pulse hard, she takes it as encouragement to rock harder against him.

His breath flutters like a warm, large butterfly across her neck and collarbones. She wishes to feel his palms on her back and in her hair, his hands on her breasts and against her hips, but Diana enjoys the way her body and mind can focus on the feeling of his cock buried deep inside of her and the way his mouth licks and sucks at her skin like he’s capable of bruising her.

She begins to rock against him harder, thrusting against his cock sharp enough for her chair to begin to creak. Steve moans against her throat, teeth grazing the skin of her shoulder as his cock hits her deeper, stretching her with every thrust of her hips. He’ll wear his battle wounds on the inside of his thighs and on his hips with pride in the morning.

Puling away from him gently, she keeps one hand on his bare shoulder and draws the other one to her breast. He stares at her openly as she thrusts against him, palming her breast and dragging her thumb over her nipple. Panting hard, Diana’s lips fall open as she stares down at him. His lips part and he leans forward, and she presses her chest up and into his face as she lets her hand fall away to drop to her hip.

Diana cries out when she brushes her finger against her clit. Moaning his name, she bears down on his cock and shudders when she brushes her finger firmly against her clit. She begs for him to touch her in an ancient language before she’s even able to grasp his native tongue. "I wish you could touch me."

Against her breast, he murmurs, "I wish I could touch you. Touch yourself like I would. I want you to not be able to think—"

Whimpering, she slides her hand beneath her, lifting her hips up. She cries out when she slides a finger inside of her cunt, pressing against this cock. She imagines it’s his hand between her legs, thick finger inside of her, thumb brushing against her clit. Diana begins to thrust against her hand, fingers gripping his shoulder tightly. If she’s gripping him too hard, he doesn’t make a sound, sucking on her breast and licking at her nipple.

His teeth graze against her breast and he presses his face firmly into her. His skin is hot as she slides her hand from his shoulder and up the back of his neck and into his hair, keeping him firmly pressed against her. His hips stutter beneath hers and his cry is muffled against her breasts as he comes, spilling hot inside of her.

Diana thinks to slow down and stop, but bites at her breast and growls. "Don’t," he says. The lasso glows brightly, and she only slows the cadence of her hips before she picks them up again, using him to fuck herself against.

His mouth is warm and wet against her breast as he licks firmly at her nipple, trailing clumsy, hot kisses up to her collarbone. He bites at her possessively and growls into her skin; it’s better than having his hands on her, his uncontrolled want and need to mark her has her staring down at his hair with her lips parted and her skin on fire.

When he tips his head back, she bows her head and presses her mouth sloppily and roughly against his. He chuckles breathlessly and bites at her lips, and even though their teeth clash, she doesn’t care. She tries to bite at his lips as she gasps against his mouth, rocking against her hand and his cock.

Pulling her head away from his, Diana cries out sharply when she comes, bearing down against his cock and her hand. She falls forward against him, his head against her shoulder. She brushes her hand in his hair, gripping the strands tightly.

Tugging his head back, she peers down at him hotly. "Di—" Steve moans when she presses her mouth firmly against his, tongue pressing against the seam of his lips sharply. She licks against his teeth and opens her mouth beneath his, hand sharp in his hair and her wet hand slicking herself against his cheek.

Breathing hard when she pulls back, she bites at his bottom lip before she sucks on her own. "Did you like that?"

Staring up at her dumfounded, he nods. "Yes," he says. The lasso glows blindingly bright. "I—Fuck yes, Diana. Wonder Woman. I can’t—I can’t remember the roleplay. Am I ruining it?"

With her teeth perched in the pillow of her bottom lip, Diana laughs and shakes her head. Her hands are gentle in his thick hair, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. "No," she says. "You ruin absolutely nothing, Steve."

He smiles up at her and leans towards her to press his mouth against hers once more, but Diana pulls away, twisting slightly, still in his lap, and begins to undo the lasso tied around his wrist. Once she frees them both, she doesn’t bother with his legs, the lasso uncurling and slackening around his feet.

His hands brush against her hips, sliding along the small of her back to palm what skin he can find beneath her armour. He’s the only one who knows its weak spots, of how he can easily tug it off her when so many believe its covered in tiny hooks, zippers and magic.

"So," he says, clearing his throat. "You ruined my favourite shirt."

"Please," she says, laughing lightly. "You only own white shirts."

His hands are warm against her back, rightfully on their perch. She sits on his lap, cock softening inside of her, and he stares up at her as if she’s the sky he can rely on and be safely nestled within. She misses his warm blue gaze when he bends around her, groaning as he tugs at the lasso that falls away from his legs. Every shift sends warmth inside of her as he remains nestled in her cunt; she grips his shoulders tightly, letting out a sharp tug of breath as he rights himself and leans back against the chair.

Brushing her hands through his thick, fluffy hair, she pulls a hand away and presses her fingers against his lips gently. Quietly, she says, "I think someone’s here…"

"Then I think we should be quiet. There’s a table we need to fuck on," he says. She laughs quietly at his blush and he presses his mouth firmly against hers, lifting her up off the chair and onto the long desk.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr.](http://finnicks.tumblr.com)


End file.
